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i-mean-y-not · 3 months ago

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Why?

It would never last…

It could never last.

On the day you’d discovered it, everything was normal. He acted as if nothing was wrong. Kissed you before he left and gave his dog a light scratch behind the ears. Then he was off to work. With the day off and absolutely nothing to do, you did menial tasks and tidied up to wait for his return. Dating a man as well known as him wasn’t an easy feat.

The misinformation that constantly came out, the long hours at the work, and the overwhelming exhaustion he faced everyday. But despite it all, you never left.

After two years, life finally made sense with him and for him. After dusting off the lamp that resides in the corner of the room, you find your way to his nightstand and open it slightly to make sure everything is neatly arranged.

Everything looks normal, yet there’s something hidden, tucked away in the top right corner that looks oddly unfamiliar. When you see the metallic and the sleek red design you discover that it’s a phone. Now it isn’t odd to have a second phone. However, a phone your partner hasn’t the foggiest idea about is concerning.

So you grab it, turn it on and immediately wish you hadn’t. There are pictures of a woman that scream familiarity. She snaps all the right angles and her faint smile is genuine. Then, there are pictures that make me choke on literal air. Pictures that flatter her lingerie and pictures where she has no lingerie on. You close your eyes softly and softly nod to yourself as a way to stave off the impending anxiety. It doesn’t work.

Then, you look through the message threads. And it seems pretty one-sided. She’s the aggressor and sends unsolicited pictures and spam messages. And he’s answered twice. The first message he sends her simply reads, “last night was a mistake. Don’t contact me again.” And you’d never known him to be so cold. Then when she wouldn’t stop, there’s a thread from just this morning stated, “I’m in love with my girlfriend, okay? Leave me alone.”

To which she responds with, “Sure, why don’t I tell her about our little tryst and see if she feels the same way.” His response is immediate, “I’d ruin your life. You understand that, right? I will make sure that you’ll be seen as a worthless homewrecker by the time I’m through with you. Don’t fucking threaten me.”

Then it’s radio silence. And you’re left taking in ragged breaths to bring yourself down. It was inevitable. That’s what you tell yourself. But you also deserve better. You tell yourself that too. As you stashed the phone back where it was and make your way to the closet to retrieve my almost never use suitcase, the doorbell rings.

You walk to the door and look at the peep hole and see a bouquet of flowers. Peonies to be exact, your favorite. You open the door and my lip quirks up into a wry smile. They’re from him. You bring them in and sit them on the counter, not even bothering to read the card.

On auto pilot, you go back into your shared room and snatch everything off of the hangers. Things are thrown into the suitcase left and right with no rhyme or reason. And when you’re done, you move onto the bathroom. It takes about 30 minutes for me to get all of your stuff.

Two years of your life took 30 minutes to pack up. Staying in a penthouse has its advantages, the view of the city reminds you that this is your prison. You dragged your suitcase out into the foyer and leave it there to retrieve your keys that still reside on your nightstand. You’re doing final walk-through when you hear keys being shoved into the lock of the front door.

You sigh inwardly and your fight or flight tells you to do the latter. So you hide. Although the office is used frequently, it’s a place he’ll never think to look. You duck down below the double pane glass in the office and wait patiently.

There’s no movement for a while and one would assume they were in the clear. So, getting up from your crouch you slightly opened the door to the office and went once you hear his voice booming through the penthouse.

“I told you not to call me again. How did you even get this number? I don’t want to see you, or talk to you. I wish I never met you. If I hear from you ever again in life, you will regret it. And I mean it. Stop with your bullshit.”

And once again, you’ve never heard him speak so venomously. To you or anyone else, and when he turns slightly to the left and sees your baggage.

His mouth parts, slightly, and his eyebrows meet in the middle of his forehead. “What the hell?” he whispers, inspecting your luggage. He calls my name. Once, twice, three times. And by the third, he struggling to breathe. His eyes dart from side to side, and he shakes his head vehemently. “No, no, no. It’s okay, she’s here. Maybe she has to take a trip for work that she didn’t tell me about.” His guilty conscious struggles to draw a definitive line between reality and subconscious.

He stalks through the house, opening and closing every door once he seeing that you’re not in them. When he gets to the office door, you open it before he gets a chance to. And you want to feel bad for him. That’s the thing about love. No matter how much you wish it, you could never watch the one you love suffer. With a sigh, you open the door fully and step into the foyer that cause now nauseating nostalgia. He whips his head to the side immediately and when your eyes meet, his face crumples. He knows you know.

The blank and impassive mask you wear, can only mean one thing. But still he asks, “What’s all this?”

He nods toward the luggage and you close your eyes in brief agony. “My things.”

He nods once again, and with a smile that couldn’t begin to reach his eyes, he says, “Were you just going to leave without telling me?”

You offer a protrusion of your lips response. “Sure.” You’re usually very animated and talkative, you see. So one word responses only calls him further strife, you’re sure.

So, like he’s doomed to do he begins his cross examination. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” you respond.

“Is it for work?”

You sigh. “No.”

He blinks once, then twice.

“Who are you going with?” You shrug sheepishly, getting close to the end of this charade.

“Does it matter?” And it takes everything in you not to throw shit. To scream. To cry. To slap him so hard that his ears ring, but in a way, you’re relieved. You don’t have to rehash what you already knew.

Then he asks the million dollar question. “Were you even going to tell me you were leaving?”

With a bleary tone you breathe out. “Were you ever gonna tell me you fucked someone else?”

That does it.

The air whooshes out of him like a geyser on the verge of erupting and you stand there quietly, waiting. Then the word vomit ensues and it’s really all downhill from there. “And what were the flowers supposed to do, huh? Absolve you of your sins? Take those pink ass peonies and give them to the broad you stepped out on me with.”

He’s a big man, not be trifled with even on his worst days, but the absolute way his body caves in on itself frightens you. His body thrums with panic and you watch in mild fascination.

When he decides to speak, it’s quiet and you swear he whimpers when he mumbles, “I’m so fucking sorry, pretty girl.”

He places one hand in his heart and the other on his chest when he proclaims, “I would die a thousand deaths before I even think about hurting you.”

Your head shakes from side to side mirthlessly.

“But you did hurt me.” With mournful and sparkling eyes you repeat, “You did.” He walks over to you calmly as if he moves too fast, you’ll make a run for it. When he gets to you, he reaches out.

You move almost comically fast and he does too. You dodge him and he drops to his knees and clings to your waist. “Let me go.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to,” you mumble. You feel him open his mouth and before he utters a word, I’m leaving flies out of yours. His teeth snap shut at that. And if you didn’t lean back slightly, he would’ve bitten you. You stand there for what feels like eons and then a warmth seeps the underside of your breasts. Belatedly, after a sniffle, you realize that he’s crying.

This is the first time you’ve seen it and hopefully it’s the last. You don’t move to console him.

Who did that for you?

You allow him a moment and step back and out of his grasp. He clings as if his life depends on it and in a way you suppose it does.

For two years, you’ve been his lifeline. Being there for all the ups and downs and twists and turns. But you’re no longer his lifeline. You’re no longer apart of his life. It takes physically everything in you to pry him off.

After much resistance, he lets go and it’s only to sag dejectedly onto the floor. Somehow seeing the broken man he is irritates you further.

“You did this.” You snap, harshness seeping through your tone. “So, deal with the consequences.”

“Please,” he rasps out. “Don’t. Don’t do this. I love you, I swear it was a one time thing. I wasn’t getting any work and I just—.”

You nod once. “Sure.”

And you’re so far detached that it’s scary. Resolutely, you shuffle and cant around him to make a beeline for the luggage. He firmly grabs your wrist and you snatch it back as if you’ve been burned. “Don’t fucking touch me.” And the crack in your voice gives you away.

You shake your head to keep the tears from falling. “I trusted you, Toji. With every cell in my body. But this is unforgivable; you understand? You’re going to let me go and I’m going to walk out of our relationship like you did.”

The fight leaves him after that and you purse your lips in quiet agony. And you shouldn’t do it, you know you shouldn’t but if you’re gonna leave, you’re gonna be petty. So, before you touch the luggage, you make a quick stop in the bedroom. You purposely crinkle the foil package in your hands and pointedly ignore his gaze.

You hear him before you can see him. However, his thunderous steps don’t really scare you anymore and you don’t have too much to lose. That gentle wrist grab was nothing compared to this. “The fuck do you need condoms for, Y/N?”

“That’s not really any of your business anymore, is it?”

With that, you snatch your luggage and before you slam the door, you face him head on, with the tears long gone in your eyes. “I hope she was worth it.”

Then, the door closes, Toji whispers faintly, “She wasn’t.”

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